


Professional Standards

by Million_Moments



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:36:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1751348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Million_Moments/pseuds/Million_Moments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The women in Richard’s life always seem to make things more difficult. But it has never been this complex before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to write the whole thing and then post it, but Willowsticks convinced me to post part one.

It was Catherine who alerted Camille to the existence of Lian. “Why doesn’t Richard ever bring his girlfriend here?” She asked Camille one Sunday, when they were sat outside sharing brunch. The question caused Camille to choke on her grapefruit.

“Sorry?” She asked, certain she must have misheard.

“The pretty Chinese looking lady? About your age, very long hair? Surely she is his girlfriend, I can’t see a woman spending time with Richard for any other reason,” Catherine said with a smile. It was true Richard wasn’t exactly known as a ladies’ man, one memorable time Dwayne had offered him lessons in how to attract women. Richard’s indignation had lasted weeks.

“I spend time with him outside of work,” Camille pointed out, largely to give herself time to recover from the shock of this revelation. She wracked her brain but had no clue what woman her mother could be referring too.

“Yes, well, he is your boss and when he got here he didn’t know anyone else. It was a nice thing to do, but it seems like he is finally settling in now!” Catherine paused and looked closely at Camille, quickly realising the truth, “You don’t know who I am talking about, do you?”

Camille shook her head, frowning, “Why would you think this woman, whoever she is, is his girlfriend?”

“Well I have seen them together a few times now. For the past month every time I have popped into the library on a Saturday I’ve seen the pair of them huddled together in the café. They always seem pretty cosy, enough that I am pretty certain Richard has never even noticed I was there,” Catherine said with a small smile. “And I didn’t wish to interrupt. Though if these are dates, I think Richard might want to start being a bit more original, no woman wants to be repeatedly brought to the same place. Mind, a couple of times I have seen them walking around the botanic garden as well.”

This made Camille frown even more. She had offered to take Richard to the botanic gardens a few times, and he had never shown an interest. Whereas a moment before she had been sure her Mother must be mistaken, and something else was going on, she was no longer so sure. A certain amount of despondency was coming over her as well – Camille had thought she had made progress with Richard, had thought they were friends. She knew he was an intensely private person, but to have been presumably seeing this woman for over a month and to have not mentioned anything, not even in passing, well it hurt. Possibly more than it should. 

“Are you okay?” Catherine asked, picking up on Camille’s change in mood.

“Yes, fine,” she said breezily, giving herself a mental shake. Camille couldn’t criticise Richard, she hardly went around telling him about every date she went on. Though that was mostly because all the recent ones had been complete disasters.

 

* * *

 

 

By the end of the day, Camille had resolved to say nothing to Richard about his so called girlfriend. Monday morning her resolve lasted all of 5 seconds. He’d made his own way into work that morning, and he had barely sat down when she found she was unable to stop herself asking, “My Mother wants to know when you are going to bring your girlfriend to _La Kaz_?”

He gave her a dazed look, the sort that indicated he might not have had a strong enough coffee yet this morning. After the question had sunk in, he scowled and asked, “What girlfriend?”

The conversation had immediately gotten the attention of Dwayne and Fidel, who were looking between the two officers expectantly – both thought fireworks might be possible. Unusual for so early in the week – typically the two of them needed a few days before they really started to wind each other up – but not entirely unheard of. Neither officer felt sure they could predict how Camille would react if what she was implying was true.

“There is no point in being all coy about it, seems my Mother has seen you together on a fair few occasions,” Camille said airily. “Perhaps it is time we all got an introduction?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he told her shortly. “Your Mother is clearly misinformed.”

“Are you calling her a liar?” Camille snapped instantly.

“No, I am calling her misinformed,” he spat back, but the way he was squirming in his chair and avoiding her gaze told Camille that he was definitely hiding something, and she was intent of discovering what.

“Come on Chief, you shouldn’t be embarrassed, she’s very pretty from what I have seen!” Both Camille and Richard looked at Dwayne in surprise, though Fidel didn’t. This told Camille that Fidel had known about this woman as well – was she the only person on the island who had been clueless?

“What woman?” He asked, frustrated.

“Oh I saw you last weekend wondering along the beach!” Dwayne said, with the sort of knowing grin that told Camille the couple might have been walking to or from Richard’s place. That thought was a bit like a punch to the gut for Camille, but she quickly pushed the feeling aside.

“Just because you saw me, or Catherine saw me, with a woman does not mean she is my girlfriend,” Richard pointed out shortly.

“Who is she then?” Camille asked, leaning forward. She hadn’t missed the fact it was not an outright denial. None of them had.

“None of your business!” he snapped, which only roused her suspicions further. Unfortunately there had been an air of finality to his tone and Camille knew if she pressed anymore right now, it would only lead to a full blown argument and she wasn’t sure she had the energy to deal with that at the moment.

Camille remained in a mood with him all day though. She felt she had asked him a perfectly reasonable question – perfectly appropriate for even somebody who was _just_ a colleague to ask, and they were supposed to be friends! Richard, as emotionally dense as he was, could tell she was annoyed but he seemed equally angry at her, and the two passed a very tense day within the station. Camille sort of wished a call of some crime, any crime, would come in as having a case to focus on might have eased then tensions between them. But it remained quiet – and they remained stubbornly ignoring each other, only talking to each other when absolutely necessary. Both Dwayne and Fidel had, at separate times, made an attempt to get them talking again but to no avail.

 

* * *

 

 

It didn’t surprise Camille when Richard chose to sit away from the rest of them that evening – he always did when one of them was in a bit of a mood. Her Mother raised a single eyebrow at her as she returned from delivering Richard’s tea, and Camille just shot back a look that clearly said she didn’t want to talk about it. It didn’t make for a very nice atmosphere, and Dwayne and Fidel soon quit to head off elsewhere.

After that Camille received a significant look from her Mother, but when she failed to act on it Catherine came over and said, “Hey, you too have to cheer up or you’ll drive all my customers away. Has he done something _that_ bad?” Well the truthful answer to that question was no, as Richard was of course entitled to his privacy. The lack of reply was enough for Catherine to figure out that Richard was not entirely in the wrong on this occasion, and stared at her daughter until Camille sighed dramatically before standing and stalking purposefully towards her boss.

She hesitated when she reached the table though, and ended up asking, “Can I sit here?”

He shrugged one shoulder, “If you want.”

She sat. “I suppose I shouldn’t expect you to tell me who she is,” she admitted, grudgingly. “Though I would hope that we were good enough _friends_ that you would feel comfortable enough to tell me.”

Camille was sort of hoping to guilt him into an admission. He gave her a sideways glance and then, with a small shake of his head, he told her, “Her name is Lian. And she is not my girlfriend.”

She just about managed to keep the triumphant smile off her face, instead asking casually, “So what is she?”

“I can’t…I don’t think, its better you don’t know.” Camille gave him a disbelieving look, and he tried to explain himself further, “Look, maybe soon, but not now. Can you just, you know, trust me on it?”

Camille was very confused. She had never seen Richard act this way before, but he was asking her to not ask any more questions and to trust him and she supposed she had no reason not to. So she just nodded, and ordered another beer.

 

* * *

 

 

Camille’s curiosity got the better of her. She was fine with not asking anymore questions, but Camille reckoned she could learn a lot even if she just got a look at the girl. Of course, Richard would hardly believe she had just ‘dropped in’ to the library if he spotted her – so there was no stalking him there. And yes, it did feel a bit like stalking. No, she was going to have to try and observe this Lian woman when Richard was _not_ around.

She didn’t prove hard to locate, the island of Saint Marie was not exactly overflowing with people of Chinese decent. And so after a couple of questions posed to a couple of people meant she had soon learned that this woman wasn’t just in the library on a Saturday – she spent many days there. And could also be found in one or two of the Churches a fair amount of the time as well. That information only increased Camille’s curiosity and she had to act on it.

So, on a Friday, when the library opened late because of course all the cool kids would want to go to go to the library on a Friday night, Camille turned up to carry out her observations. She found her quarry in the library café, being given an encouraging smile by the lady behind the counter as she, very hesitantly, ordered herself a cup of tea. It was obvious she was struggling with English, and Camille wondered if all of this was simply Richard giving the woman English lessons – but then why would he be keeping that so quiet? When Lian started to carefully count out the money the woman behind the counter waved her off, insisting she except it as a reward.

“You are doing really well,” She said. “Keep it up!”

Camille ordered herself a cappuccino and sat in a table close to the woman in order to be able to observe her. She had some woman’s magazine that she seemed to be trying to work her way through it. Dwayne and her Mother had been right, she was a classically beautiful woman. And there was something else as well, Camille didn’t think she had ever seen somebody look so, well, vulnerable. She was able to conclude one thing for sure: Lian, whoever she was, had a story. And it probably wasn’t a fairy tale.  

 

* * *

 

 

It had taken time, but she, Dwayne and Fidel had all felt like they had made headway with Richard – gotten him to be more relaxed, even if it was only a _little_ bit more relaxed. When he returned from London there was a definite change – he had suddenly seemed more settled, and she had begun to think he might be planning on staying. Camille had liked the way he was suddenly smiling more often, and the fact he no longer tried to hide how pleased he was when he managed to make her laugh. In Camille’s opinion, these were steps very much in the right direction.

Now Camille thought back over the past few weeks, she realised that Richard had seemed to be regressing. He had been grumpier, and she had just put it down to the heat – but it had not been significantly warmer than usual. More importantly, he had been more reclusive – almost reverting to the level he had been when he first arrived. She really should have realised sooner something was going on, and taken steps to find out what. Whatever Richard was doing with this Lian woman, it was not relaxing, that was for sure.

 

* * *

 

 

But then, once day, he came in to work actually _whistling_. The activity gained him surprised looks from all of his colleagues. It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and Camille couldn’t help but comment on it.

“You’re cheerful,” she said, as she brought him a cup of coffee.

“Not particularly,” he immediately denied, sending a spike of frustration through her.

“You’re whistling,” she pointed out.

“Sometimes I whistle!” He said, starting to sound defensive. Camille decided it might be worth leaving the issue be for now. There was a slightly sick feeling in her stomach when she contemplated the various reasons why he might be so cheerful anyway.

Later on, though, when they were alone in the station after Dwayne and Fidel had gone to investigate a break in, he had cleared his throat and asked, “Um, could you, um, perhaps come over on Saturday?” Her heart leapt, but then she realised it was probably not what it sounded like.

“Of course,” she said, expecting him to elaborate on the reasons. But instead he just nodded and said, “Right, good, um, eleven would be good.”

“I’ll be there,” she said, then waited again for further explanation. When none was forthcoming she verbally prodded him, “Any particular plans?”

He took a moment to consider his answer, “Um, I thought you could meet Lian.” That came as a shock, and Camille wondered if this hesitation meant the status of their relationship had changed. She was reminded once again of how cheerful he had been this morning, and how much time he had apparently been spending with her. Could he spend _that_ much time with an attractive woman and not have… _things_ …develop.

She decided such thoughts were not productive and pushed them from her mind, instead replying politely, “I’ll be there.”

 

* * *

 

 

Camille arrived early. Normally, she wouldn’t be shy about it, and would just bustle in without permission. Today she was worried what she might witness if she did walk in now. Instead she hung back on the tree line, squinting up at the little shack and telling herself not to be ridiculous. When there were only 10 minutes left, she set off purposefully towards the bungalow. As she rounded the corner she spotted Richard, and began to call out a greeting, but then realised something was wrong.

Richard was crouched down examining something and it only took Camille a moment to realise it was a woman. Not just any woman – it was Lian, and she was very much dead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter. I am also starting to think this fic is going to be way too overdramatic and perhaps a bit unbelievable!

It didn’t take long for Camille to get over the shock and realise that some sort of action needed to be taken. She leapt lightly up the steps on to his porch and looked down at the dead woman. Then around the porch itself and as she did a wave of familiarity hit her.

“I know,” Richard said - he must have read her expression. “I called an ambulance but I am not sure there is much point…”

He was making no effort at life saving techniques, and Camille could understand why. The ambulance was really just to confirm the death, and transport the body. Camille walked over to the porch where there was a glass, crouched down and sniffed – the smell was exactly what she expected, almonds. She couldn’t resist commenting on it any longer, “Richard, this is just like…”

“ _I know_!” He cut her off, more sharply than Camille felt was necessary. But then again she supposed having a dead body on your porch was rather stressful. And she still didn’t know what the nature of relationship to this woman was either.

“Richard, I’m sorry…” She started, rather usefully. Camille took half a step towards him but his whole body was screaming out that, as much as she might feel it was the right action, he did not want to be touched right now.

She glanced back at the table, and then realised there was one key way in which it was different from that _other_ scene. On the table was a sealed envelope, characters Camille assumed to be Chinese on the front. Instinctively she reached for it, stopping dead when Richard snapped out, “Don’t!”

He was right to snap at her this time, she had been about to contaminate the scene after all. She pulled her hand back sharply and apologised, “Sorry, of course, I’ll go get the kit from the car.”

Richard gave a sigh, as if he regretted snapping at her, “At the moment, I don’t think you should even do that.”

Camille wasn’t sure what he meant, “Richard we need to collect the evidence.”

“ _We_ won’t be collecting evidence. At least I mean, I can’t – it would be entirely inappropriate since this is my house. And I’m not sure you should either.” He paused, then seemed to come to some sort of resolution. “Look will you…um, wait here? I need to call the Commissioner.”

It wouldn’t be the first time Camille had been alone with a dead body, the idea didn’t bother her, and so she nodded and watched as he walked a little way away from the shack, pulling out his phone. This gave her a moment to gather her own thoughts. There were obviously a lot of unanswered questions, like who the hell Lian was, what her relationship to Richard was and why was she dead on his porch in a scene very familiar to one he had worked shortly after his arrival on the island? But no part of Camille thought Richard might actually be _responsible_ for the woman’s death. She hoped he realised everyone would feel that way as well. Camille watched as Richard got off the phone, but he didn’t return to the porch. Instead he seemed to be staring out across the ocean, and Camille found herself reluctant to disturb him – he was and always would be a very private person.

The ambulance arrived. The paramedics took one look at the pair of them and knew what they were here for really. Gloved up and treading carefully, they began their examination. Camille got out of their way without a word being spoken, moving closer to Richard along the beach.

“The Commissioner is on his way,” he explained. That didn’t surprise Camille in the slightest, a dead body at his senior officer’s house was bound to attract the man’s attention. “He’s calling Dwayne and Fidel as well. You’ll all be briefed by him when he arrives.”

“What about you?” She asked immediately. She realised how stupid she sounded almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

“I am not involved in this investigation,” he said firmly. “And as I’ve mentioned, I am not sure to what extent any of you will be as well.”

“But when Dwayne…” Camille began, but he waved her off.

“Those circumstances were different,” he pointed out, though Camille wasn’t sure _how_ different. As annoyed as she had been with Richard for acting as if there has been a chance Dwayne was the killer, there _was_ good reason to suspect him. “Besides, Dwayne is Saint Marie Police and as his superior I was able to make the decision to eliminate him from the enquiry. But technically I am still a member of The Met, and thus subject to their rules and procedures.” Richard looked almost defeated by the fact. “I’m sure the Commissioner is on the phone to London as we speak, sorting it out.”

Camille was going to attempt to express her sympathies again, to offer some show of support, but before she could the paramedics joined them. “There is nothing we can do here,” said the oldest of the pair. “Which I think you knew. Would you like us to wait for transport?”

“I’m not entirely sure when that will be,” Richard admitted. “I would go back to work if I were you. I am sure somebody will call you when you are needed again.” They nodded their acknowledgement and headed back to the ambulance. Generally, paramedics were quite discrete. But discrete on Saint Marie meant telling only two other people instead of ten – she strongly suspected that the majority of the island would know by nightfall.

The bike arrived, the boys having beat the Commissioner – probably because Dwayne had not stuck to the speed limits. Camille could see the tension in their bodies even from a distance, Richard might not fully realise it but both officers were very fond of him, in their own way.  They didn’t quite run over, but it was pretty close.

“Sir!” Fidel said. “I..is…?”

The poor boy didn’t seem to know what to say. Dwayne stepped in to rescue him, “Chief, the Commissioner wasn’t exactly liberal with details on the phone.”

“Well, I am sure he will brief you more fully when he gets here.” Camille watched as Dwayne and Fidel shared a look, they had clearly been expecting to receive more information, and their orders, from the Inspector.

“Sir…” Fidel began again.

“There are procedures to follow,” Richard said firmly. Camille got the feeling that ‘procedure’ and ‘rules’ were going to be words she would quite quickly come to hate. “Obviously the location of the scene at my house makes any involvement in the investigation by me an impossibility. Well, involvement as a police officer, that is.” He added on the end, pedantic as ever. Camille was not particularly looking forward to questioning him – assuming she _was_ going to be the one to question him.

“Is there anything we should do for the moment?” Fidel asked, probably feeling a bit useless just standing there and waiting.

“The Commissioner is here now,” Richard said, nodding at the approaching car and sounding a little relieved. Their boss exited the car practically the instant it stopped, and strode towards the group with his usual purpose.

“Inspector,” Patterson said. “I believe I can take over from here, thank you. Perhaps you could return to the station and wait for me there. My driver will take you back. I’ll come to see you as soon as I can.”

Richard didn’t put up any fight, and Camille was forced to bite her tongue to stop herself saying what she really wanted to. “Yes Sir,” he said obediently. He headed off towards Patterson’s car without looking at her, something Camille found oddly hurtful. She told herself to stop being so stupid.

Before he reached the car, Patterson called out, “Oh, Inspector, perhaps you could use the time to arrange alternative accommodation for at least tonight.”

Once again, Camille spoke without really thinking, “Well, you can stay with me, of course.”

Richard went a bit pale at the suggestion. Behind the Commissioner, Dwayne raised a single eyebrow at her – just in case she hadn’t realised how stupid making the offer in these circumstances was. Instead of being embarrassed, Camille went defiant. She turned to meet Patterson’s gaze, expecting something stern and disapproving, but instead the older man was bestowing on her an almost sympathetic look. It threw Camille somewhat.

Richard cleared his throat a little awkwardly and said, “No, um, thanks. I am sure I can find a hotel.”

“I think that would be wise,” Patterson said, though his eyes did not leave Camille’s face. By the time Camille was able to look away, Richard was in the car and gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise next chapter will be longer, and some questions will start getting answered!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the lack of progress. I have not much been in the mood to write the more serious fic recently!

Camille knew that Richard had been staring rather uselessly at his screen moments before they walked in, but when they approached he made a valiant effort to look like he had been working. But there had been this moment, when the mask hadn’t been quite in place, and he had looked so vulnerable that it had taken all of her effort not to wrap her arms around him and press her cheek to his chest. All she cared about at the moment was trying to do something to make it better, though she knew in reality it would not be that simple. He stood as the Commissioner entered, though didn’t really look like he should be on his feet, and the Commissioner seemed to agree.

“Please, Inspector, sit back down,” he said insistently. Patterson _had_ let them collect evidence at the scene, there hadn’t been any choice really, but it had been supervised personally by him. The evidence to be sent away for analysis was still in his custody – to their surprise they learned it was being sent to the UK rather than Guadeloupe. He had not chosen to share any further details of how the investigation would proceed though. Perhaps now he would be more liberal with information. “As I am sure you are aware this investigation needs to be handled delicately.”

“Yes Sir,” he agreed simply.

“I have been on the phone to colleagues in London and they are in agreement – two Detectives will be sent from the Professional Standards Unit at the Met to conduct interviews and investigate the death. They have responded with remarkable speed given it is the weekend, apparently there was a volunteer which made it easier – I believe the officer’s will be boarding a flight in the next couple of hours so should be here tomorrow.”

Camille, who wasn’t exactly pleased they wouldn’t be investigating themselves, was nether the less relieved that they wouldn’t be left in limbo for so long. Richard looked fractionally less stressed as well. “I am sure you and your team will offer all the assistance necessary to DCI…” The Commissioner paused to check his notebook, clearly having written down the name earlier. “Huang and DS Owens for them to complete their investigation.”

A change had come over Richard during the Commissioner’s last words – somehow he looked _worse_ than he had before they walked in. “DCI Huang, Sir?” He said. “Do you happen to know his first name?”

The Commissioner frowned, “Actually, Inspector, DCI Cherry Huang is a woman. I spoke to her myself.”

This seemed to be the last thing Richard wanted to hear – which was saying something considering he had started the day with a dead body at his house. And then the shock seemed to wear off and turn to that classic Richard anger. “Oh I just bet she volunteered,” he muttered. “Sir, I don’t think that is going to be appropriate. In fact it would be _more_ professional for Camille to run the investigation, at least…” He trailed off there, unwilling to explain fully.

The Commissioner regarded him rather coolly, “Inspector, I want you to think very carefully. It could take considerable time to arrange for a second team to come out and investigate, and meanwhile _your_ career will continue to hang in the balance. Do you have any significant concerns that the officers being sent by The Met will not perform an impartial and thorough investigation?”

Richard seemed to undergo some sort of great internal struggle before saying, “No, Sir. I am sure they will do the job perfectly competently.”

Patterson gave a nod, as if acknowledging Richard had made a wise decision. “Very well. You are suspended with full pay until the investigation confirms you had nothing to do with the death of the individual. I am sure you understand.”

Camille, Fidel and Dwayne – who were all prepared to protest very loudly at that, were prevented from doing so by Richard saying loudly and firmly, “Of course, Sir. I’ve arrange accommodation at the Stonefield estate, I can be reached there or on my mobile when required.”

“Very good,” the Commissioner replied. For a moment Camille thought he might be about to escort Richard out of the station before she could talk to him – but instead he just turned to leave. At the door he paused, turned around and added, “I have absolute confidence you’ll be back in your position shortly, Inspector.” Richard acknowledged this vote of confidence with a tight nod.

 

* * *

 

 

Richard let out a long breath after the Commissioner had left. With his next one he told them, “I’ll be going.” And marched out of the door rather determinedly not looking at them. Camille wasn’t having any of it. She gave Fidel and Dwayne a significant look, which they interpreted correctly as “I will be dealing with this, please stay here” and went off to chase him down the steps.

“Richard!” She cried, hurrying after him as she had found herself doing on so many occasions. He showed no signs of slowing down. “Richard!” She tried again, almost stumbling in her desperation to catch him before he managed to find a taxi. “Richard, WAIT!” She pulled out her sternest voice, an imitation of an old school teacher, and it seemed to trigger some automatic response that caused him to _finally_ stop and allow her to catch up.

“Camille, we shouldn’t…”

“Oh shut up!” She interrupted him. “I have no plans to interview you about the…case.” She had considered searching for another word, but thought that avoidance was more likely to embarrass him than being straight about it. “I just want to check if _you_ are okay, if you need anything?”

“I’m fine,” he told her shortly. Then, more gently, “I’ll be fine, I don’t need anything.” It was exactly the answer she expected – not that she believed it for a second.

Camille decided not to beat about the bush. “Who is she?”

Richard shook his head in disbelief, “You _just said_ you weren’t going to ask about the case! You _know_ I can’t answer that.”

“I don’t mean the body, Richard,” Camille said – as if that should have been obvious. “I mean that DCI woman.” She watched with a certain fascination as he clammed up faster than he had when she first asked about Lian.

Richard must have decided to go down the state the obvious route, “She is the Chief Inspector in charge of the detectives in The Met’s Professional Standards Unit.”

When she heard the words ‘in charge’ she initially had a little panic – was it _that_ serious they would send somebody so senior? Or was it just a case of needing to send someone more senior than Richard? But then she remembered she was supposed to be trying to find out what Richard’s objection to the woman was. If he wasn’t going to tell her, she would just have to try and figure it out for herself. The problem was only one obvious solution came to mind.

“Don’t tell me she’s investigated you before?” Camille asked, certain it couldn’t be the case. “Richard I can’t imagine you even breaking a _school_ rule, let alone any police regulation serious enough to warrant getting Professional Standards involved.”

Despite her reassurance she _didn’t_ think it was the case, Richard still seemed aggrieved by the implication. “Of course I haven’t been investigated by Professional Standards before!” He burst out. “Other members of the CID I started out in were, but I was never under suspicion.”

He’d given away value intel there. “And that is how you met her?” Camille pushed.

Richard sighed, knowing he had been caught out. “Yes,” he said shortly. “ _That_ is how I met her. Can I go now?”

Obviously she couldn’t stop him, but that didn’t mean she wanted him to go just yet. “But what happened Richard?” He remained silent. Camille decided to try another tact, “You _clearly_ thought there was good reason she shouldn’t be involved. Now if you think I, any of us, will lay down entirely whilst they come in you have another thing coming – of course we’re going to be looking out for you. So I want to know if you think there is _anything_ in particular I should be looking out for.”

He looked at her for a moment as if he couldn’t understand how he could inspire such loyalty in her. It made Camille sad, that he hadn’t realised just how accepted he was here now – like he thought they could do this whole thing in an entirely detached and professional way. If they could, there wouldn’t be the damn need for Professional Standards. “I’m sure it will be fine,” he said eventually. “It’s just we didn’t…I’m not sure, um, well, it didn’t end well. I’m not sure she has forgiven me.”

That final phrase, ‘it didn’t end well’, was only ever used to describe one thing and the realisation was a bit of a shock. “You were together?” Camille asked, feeling the need for confirmation.

“A long time ago.”

She mulled the phrases over in her mind again – ‘it didn’t end well’ and ‘I’m not sure if she’s forgiven me’. She was left with another conclusion she didn’t really believe, but could have serious impacts if it did prove true. “You didn’t cheat on her, did you? Because you know that…”

“No I didn’t cheat on her!” He snapped, she’d upset him further. If he just came out and _told_ her, just opened up, all this probing wouldn’t be necessary. He had called himself an open book once but she had evidence from many occasions that he was quite the opposite – more like an indecipherable tome due to certain chapters being written entirely in code.

“Then just _tell_ me!”

He looked around, and Camille realised that this close to the market they were attracting some attention. She was mad enough (yes, angry, despite all he had been through he could still induce it in her – it was like a default state between the two of them sometimes) not to care, but he said to her, “This is not the time or the place for this conversation.” He then turned and in a remarkably smooth move flagged down a passing taxi and climbed straight in.

Camille, though still angry, took comfort in the fact he hadn’t ruled out the conversation entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try not to leave such a long gap next time!


	4. Chapter 4

Camille wanted to call him, she wanted to go see him that evening, but all the evidence pointed to the fact it would not be a good idea. She couldn’t help herself, she did send him a text asking if he was ok and received a short, perfunctory reply of ‘yes’. She didn’t bother to push for more. Camille also received instructions from the Commissioner that she should report to the station at 14:00 the next day so she could meet the officers from Professional Standards.

With nothing to distract her, Camille spent the rest of the day, most of the night and all of the next morning obsessing over the arrival of the London based officers. Her mind chose to conjure many different images of Chief Inspector Cherry Huang, but in every single one she was beautiful, successful and intelligent. Much more so than her. She tried to tell herself she was being ridiculous, but with no evidence against her imaginings it was hard work to forget about it.

So she decided to seek out evidence – you could track down anybody on the internet these days – it was very difficult not to have some sort of presence.  Camille didn’t have a Facebook or twitter account, social media could be a serious downfall when it came to working undercover, but there were still photos of her online posted by others. The odd mention in a news article as well. She reasoned that the online research was a good idea as the last thing she wanted was to not be able to keep the shock off her face if some six foot odd supermodel walked into her station tomorrow.

Camille wasn’t entirely sure how popular the name Cherry Huang was going to be in the UK, and so began with an internet search for Chief Inspector Cherry Huang, figuring there couldn’t be an overabundance of those around. She was still a little surprised by hitting pay dirt instantly.

* * *

 

_Leicestershire Police Overhaul – New Detective Superintendent to be brought in from The Met_

_With confidence with the police at an all-time low in the city of Leicester following the arrest of three senior officers for corruption, Leicestershire police have announced the appointment of a new Detective Superintendent._

_Last month Detective Superintendent Connor Daniels, DCI Kenneth Roberts and DI Justin Wilson were arrested after an internal investigation showed that for at least ten years, the three had conspired to accept bribes in order to drop charges, lose key evidence required to ensure convictions and in at least two cases make false arrests. Particularly shocking were the sorts of crimes the officers were willing to interfere with and prevent the course of justice. Allegations of charges that were dropped because of the officer’s interference include several racially motivated attacks, raising the sort of questions about institutional racism within the police that the murder of Stephen Lawrence did twenty years ago._

_Now the authorities are rushing to restore public confidence in the police service, starting with the appointment with a new Detective Superintendent. A representative from Leicestershire Police told the Leicester Mercury, “Leicestershire police would like to announce the appointment of Cherry Huang to the rank of Detective Superintendent. She will start her new role after working out her notice within the Metropolitan Police where she is currently a Detective Chief Inspector with The Met’s Professional Standards Unit.”_

_Though denied when questioned along those lines, the choice of an officer who has previously worked within professional standards is evidently an attempt to show the public that Leicestershire Police have no room for corrupt officers. DCI Huang is a highly successful officer in The Met, with 25 years’ experience and 17 commendations. Colleagues who did not wish to be named described her as ‘determined to the point of obsession’ and an individual who is ‘very sharp, and does not suffer fools gladly’._

* * *

 

 

The article then went on to mention that the other roles remained to be filled, and it was believed DCI Huang would be actively involved in the recruitment of a new Detective Chief Inspector for central Leicester’s CID. There was no accompanying photograph, Camille had not expected one in the context. She noted the date – it had only been published 48 hours earlier, she had no idea how long the notice period was for the Met but it explained why this woman was available still to come to Saint Marie for the investigation. Camille had once looked at one of those silly viral articles you find on the internet, which listed phrases used by British people and what they really mean. She seemed to recall describing a person as somebody who doesn’t suffer fools gladly was basically saying they were a miserable bastard.

However to Camille, what really resonated was that this was somebody who sounded like Richard’s ideal woman. She was starting to understand how a relationship might have occurred between the two in the past – they were both driven and highly moral after all. All she needed was to find something indicating DCI Huang was a fan of tea and roast beef and it would be a miracle that two had not married.

The next link she could find was referring to the most recent commendation DCI Huang had received, this time from the Commissioner of The Metropolitan Police himself. She was surprised to see it was not related to her work in Professional Standards, instead she had apparently observed suspicious behaviour that led to the breaking open of a gang involved in modern slavery particularly in the sex trade and she had been invaluable in supporting the victims and encouraging them to testify against their captors. Cherry Huang was starting to sound a little too good to be true.

The next article was about commendations as well, from a year earlier, and it came with a photo – but there were 30 officers in it. She squinted at it, examining the faces, none of them were shown in particular detail. Logically, Camille knew that DCI Huang was very likely to be the woman of Chinese decent skulking towards the back of the picture, body language screaming discomfit with her situation. Though she couldn’t rule out entirely the surname hadn’t come about from adoption or marriage, that was until she found an image from outside of a court during a major case 5 years previously quite clearly captioned as “the recently promoted DCI Cherry Huang” and showing a well-dressed and stupidly beautiful (despite the rather severe expression the camera has caught) ethnically Chinese woman.

Ridiculously, her first thought upon seeing the picture was that perhaps Richard _did_ have a type.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, a rather short chapter! I have this planned out better now so more soon I hope.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it is actually called the Department of Professional Standards (DPS) not the Professional Standards Unit (PSU). The acronym PSU actually stands for Police Support Unit. Never mind, perhaps in the DiP unit it is the Professional Standards Unit. It doesn’t help that I keep wanting to call it PFU, which means plaque forming unit and is a molecular biology term.

The team were at the station well before the 14:00 deadline – well, not the _whole_ team, obviously Richard was absent. Still ensconced in whatever hotel he had chosen patiently awaiting his fate. Initially, Fidel made a brave attempt at conversation. He talked about how certain he was it would all be cleared up quickly, how it must be some horrible mistake and it was really not very nice to treat the Inspector this way and how he was sure the professional standards officers were all, well, very professional. And efficient. And good at their job. So would thus naturally come to the correct conclusion – one in which no blame lay on the Inspector.

Camille put up with this for a whole 15 minutes, which she felt was showing remarkable tolerance, before her temper got the better of her, “Fidel, these are the police that put other police officers away for a living. And everybody knows to catch a bent copper sometimes you don’t always do things by the book!” She snapped. Camille knew if she looked she’d see the hurt on his features, and probably a reproving look sent in her direction by Dwayne, but instead she stared resolutely at Richard’s empty desk and continued her tirade. “And let’s face it, perhaps we shouldn’t be so confident he is innocent. He did go out of his way to hide the woman’s very existence from us.”

The silence that followed was a pretty big indication they hadn’t expected that. In truth, Camille hadn’t expected it when she opened her mouth. She instantly regretted the words – felt unbearably guilty that some part of her had actually suspected Richard might not be entirely innocent. What was wrong with her? She put her head down on the desk, covering herself with her arms, and wished very hard that this would turn out to be a bad dream. The pressure of a hand on her shoulder after a few moments caused her to raise her head to see Dwayne, offering a mug of coffee. “I didn’t mean…” she began, but Dwayne held up a hand.

“Course you didn’t, Sarge.” She turned to Fidel who just nodded, acknowledging her silent apology.

It was 13:50. Ten minutes to go.

 

* * *

 

 

Of course, they were late. Nothing on this island ever ran on time. It was 14:40 by the time a small commotion reached their ears, alerting them to the arrival of a group now ascending the stairs to the station. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take that from you, ma’am?” An unfamiliar voice was asking. One with an accent that sounded like it belonged on wireless in the 1930s. Camille had sometimes thought Richard’s accent could err on the posh side sometimes, no doubt he was taught to speak properly at whatever boarding school he was sent to, but this guy’s was unreal. It wouldn’t have surprised Camille if he had walked in wearing tweeds with a shot gun over his arm.

“I am quite able to carry my own case Saunders,” came the curt reply. No BBC accent here - instead traces of something Camille couldn’t quite put her finger on.

And then the familiar voice of the Commissioner, “Please, make your way into the station.”

The posh man, whoever he was, did not wear tweeds – just a standard, if rather rumpled, suit and tie. Though it was obvious the young man felt the heat, with his face nearly as red as his rather sweaty hair, he made no move to remove the jacket or loosen the tie. Perhaps Richard’s behaviour was not anomalous, and actually _any_ Met officer dumped on Saint Marie would stubbornly wear suits in the heat. Camille pushed the thought aside – it was not an experiment she was going to ever be able to perform. And she preferred the Met officer she had – and would rather the additional ones that had arrived were elsewhere.

Nobody looks particularly good after an 8 hour flight, and when Cherry Huang followed in the unknown officer Camille noted with some satisfaction that this was the case for her as well. Of course, it was obvious she was still a beautiful woman, and the unprepared Dwayne and Fidel both did double takes. But she still looked tired, harassed and badly in need of an opportunity to freshen up. She hid her smugness once she realised that the soon-to-be Detective Superintendent Huang was rapidly assessing them all.

The Commissioner cleared his throat, “DCI Huang, DS Saunders, I would like to introduce you to DS Camille Bordey, Seargent Best and Officer Myers.” There then followed the obligatory shaking of hands. Then, with no hesitation, DCI Huang crossed the station to Richard’s desk where she unburdened herself of her laptop bag, beginning to unpack and set up its contents. The Commissioner, if he disapproved, did not say anything. “I will leave you to it. I am sure the team will offer their full co-operation on the matter. Please keep me informed on progress.”

At that final statement, Huang did pause long enough to look up and give the Commissioner a nod and a, “Of course, Sir. Thank you for the lift from the airport. We’ll be out of your way as soon as possible.”

“It is good of you to fly out here on such short notice,” Dwayne said politely, though with the sort of smile that indicated he might also be trying his luck. Huang resolutely ignored him, and he and Fidel shared a significant look that confused Camille for a moment until she remembered the tales of woe they had shared with her concerning DS Angela Young. A woman who had, apparently, made the Inspector seem positively charming and whose manner had started out in a similar way to Huang.

Saunders, meanwhile, had pulled a rather flash looking tablet out of his computer. “What is the wifi password?” He asked the room in general.

Camille closed her eyes and held in the scream. Fidel was the one who eventually answered, “We don’t have wireless internet, Sir, however you can use my terminal if you like.”

Saunders glanced at the computer – he was a man whose thoughts clearly showed on his face, not a good habit for a police officer, and the look of mild surprise meant Camille knew what he was going to say before he said it. “Good Lord! Does that thing use a cathode ray tube based monitor? I thought those were still used in the 3rd world.” Across the room, Camille heard DCI Huang give a small sigh. One, she thought, which was probably a combination of disbelief and disapproval, though nothing showed on _her_ face. Saunders carried on oblivious, “Don’t worry, uh, Best wasn’t it? We have mi-fi assigned to us. Useful little devices, do your team use them?”

“No,” Camille said quickly and firmly. She wasn’t even entirely sure what a mi-fi was, but was in no mood to find out, so had spoken quickly before Fidel could ask for more details. What she wanted was for them to be getting on with the investigation, not wasting time discussing computer accessories.

“I require the log of evidence that has been transferred to London for processing,” DCI Huang said suddenly.

Fidel rose to give it to her, but Saunders spotted the action and swiftly grabbed it from the young man’s hand and strode across the room to present it to Huang. “Thank you,” she said absently before carefully examining each record against some sort of log on her computer.

Camille felt a rush of annoyance. “Fidel is very through, ma’am,” she told her. “You can trust it is all there.”

Huang didn’t look up from her task. “You’ll have to forgive me, DS Bordey, trust is a habit I have rather grown out of.” Camille, who wasn’t really sure what that was supposed to mean, just slowly lowered herself into the chair at her own desk. She knew showing her anger was hardly going to help Richard, she would have to try to keep a lid on her ‘volatile French temperament’ as he was warrant to call it during their more bitter arguments. She usually responded with a few choice adjectives to describe his manner.

“Ma’am!” Saunders called out excitedly. “The forensic lab is already working on the letter. They have emailed through a scan.”

He held out the tablet to her, and she gave it a cursory glance. “Good,” she said. “Have them send the scan to the translation team.”

This instruction seemed to puzzle Saunders, “But ma’am, don’t _you_ want to read it? You are fluent…”

“I know what languages I can speak, Saunders,” Huang said cutting him off. “And that is English, German and Mandarin. The victim’s last name is a very common Cantonese surname. We should not assume what language or dialect this is written in, though hopefully Inspector Poole will be able to provide more information on that front.”

“But ma’am,” Saunders began again, though this time with some hesitancy. “Translation takes some time and I thought that though the two languages are different the written form is the same.”

“When did you look that up?” Her voice was flat, her gaze steady.

Saunders shifted and said evasively, “I thought the information could be pertinent to this case.” That told Camille that he had known it _before_ for some reason, and didn’t want to admit it. This was certainly proving to be an interesting exchange to observe, the two were acting like nobody else was there.

“Well did you also read about how a literal translation of text written in Cantonese into Mandarin will contain unnatural grammar, idioms and other issues because of the differences between the two languages?”

“Yes, I did ma’am, but I thought we might be able to get the jist of it…”

“ _The_ _jist of it_?” Huang snapped then, her annoyance at Saunders persistence overwhelming her control of her temper. “Detective Sergeant a young woman is dead and we are investigating because she was found on the property of a British police officer. His colleagues over there are relying on us to conduct a thorough and professional investigation in order to get to the truth of the matter. Do you really think it is appropriate for us to proceed with a translation that gives us ‘the jist of it’?”

“No, ma’am, it wouldn’t be appropriate,” Saunders said immediately, knowing he was beaten. Amazingly, he radiated no resentment at the dressing down. He seemed…grateful, as if Cherry Huang had just showed him the error of his ways and made him a better police officer. It was sort of creepy, his desperation to impress her and please her.

“I understand it was agreed the autopsy would be performed in Basse Terre as usual,” Cherry said, turning back to the three members of the Saint Marie Police Force.

“That’s correct ma’am. It is scheduled as the first of the day tomorrow morning.”

“Saunders, kindly take the luggage to the hotel and check us both in. Then arrange transport to Basse Terre for the autopsy.”

Saunders looked extremely displeased by these instructions. He schooled his features into something a tad more respectful and suggested, “Perhaps Officer Myers would know of a vehicle we could use to get there?”

“Basse Terre is on Guadeloupe, an entirely different island,” Huang said with another disappointed sigh. “Unless the Saint Marie Police Force keep a hovercraft or other single vehicle capable of both land and sea travel, I believe multiple forms of transport may be required.” Camille very nearly smiled. In fact, she realised with a small jolt, she would have if Richard had made that same snarky comment.

“I can offer you a ferry timetable,” Dwayne said sweetly, holding out a rather crumpled copy Camille suspected may be a few months out of date. She raised a single eyebrow and he conceded, reaching into his desk and retrieving the latest version. Camille appreciate Dwayne might want to teach the DS a lesson, but they had to resist for the sake of the Inspector.

“There you are. Off you go Saunders!” And with that the young man was dismissed.

Now he was gone, DCI Huang turned and addressed them all. “I appreciate you all coming in on a Sunday, I was unaware the Commissioner was going to request that as it will take me time to go get up to speed and I thus have no assignments for you at this time. Naturally you still have other police work to get on with and this is what I imagine you will be doing through most of the investigation.” Huang must have caught the change in Camille’s body language, the indication that she was about to object strongly, because she hastened to add, “Though for interviews and such one of you will always be present.” This was enough to calm Camille for the moment.

“Professional Standards are involved in two broad categories of cases,” she said, launching into what sounded like a well-rehearsed speech. “There are those cases where we have evidence that police officers may be involved in crime, bent in the common parlance, and so we launch an investigation. Then there are cases where we are asked to investigate, because a police officer has found themselves closely connected to a case and it may not be appropriate for them or their colleagues to investigate it without independent observation. We are, of course, dealing with the latter here. But both cases have something in common: there is _no_ presumption of guilt. Officers sometimes say what we do in Professional Standards isn’t ‘proper police work’ but they are wrong, it is, we are detectives pure and simple. The benefit of us being involved in situations such as this is that when somebody is cleared, there is public confidence because that clearance was made by people externally. That is simply a fact of life that none of us can change. So I hope you will see our presence here not as an intrusion on your territory, but instead simply as another force offering their assistance.”

It was a very pretty speech, and Fidel for one seemed utterly relieved. Camille and Dwayne, perhaps due to past experience, were not as easily swayed – not that they would say that out loud. Instead they each acknowledged DCI Huang with a ‘yes ma’am’. “Right, well Myers and Best you may go back to whatever it was you had planned to do with your Sunday. Detective Sergeant Bordey I’d appreciate a moment to talk to you in more depth.”

With a single look, Dwayne conveyed he was willing to stay and pretend he had work to do if she desired. Camille gave a small shake of her head, she could handle it. He and Fidel then left. DCI Huang came over and perched on Camille’s desk in a way she considered a little too familiar. It was probably something DCI Huang had picked up from a management course.

“It seems appropriate to me that you are present at most of the interviews when your duties allow it,” Huang said. “Do you wish to come to the autopsy tomorrow? I imagine you don’t often get the opportunity with the set up here but I could use a second pair of eyes during the observation.”

“Are you not bringing DS Saunders, ma’am?”

The Detective Chief Inspector drew in a breath, holding it for a moment whilst she considered her response. She eventually let it out slowly and gave a small nod, “Yes, however DS Saunders has not witnessed too many autopsies. It isn’t terribly uncommon for officers to throw up at their first, but according to his file he continued to do so until he was no longer assigned to do them anymore. I thus don’t expect him to be observing for long.”

“Well,” Camille said, feeling a little sorry for Saunders. “It shows great commitment that he is willing to go tomorrow anyway. He could have made an excuse.”

“Admitting weaknesses can sometimes be a greater show of character than struggling on,” Huang responded. More management speak, Camille concluded, except the DCI seemed to genuinely believe this one.

“He seems very dedicated to you,” Camille said before realising how it sounded. DCI Huang grimaced, unhappy with the simpering behaviour of her officer and the fact that Camille had picked up on it. “I imagine your team will miss you when you leave.”

_That_ caught her attention. “Leave?” She asked, prompting for more clarification.

“To take up your post in the Leicestershire police service,” Camille supplied. She was starting to wonder if letting it slip that she had been doing her research was an entirely good idea.

“You looked me up.” A statement rather than a question, so Camille didn’t bother to answer. Huang regarded her silently for a moment, before flashing a very brief smile. “Good, one thing I can _never_ understand is turning up to interview an officer and finding he or she hasn’t bothered to find out anything out about myself or my team. It reeks of incompetence – you’ve researched me and I have reviewed your file. We know where we stand.”

Genuine pleasure wasn’t the response Camille had been expecting. She felt like she had passed a test – perhaps Huang had formed a picture of her from the notes in her file and she had just confirmed her that assessment as correct. This thought made Camille uncomfortable – the idea that she could be so predictable.

“I think DS Saunders is hoping I will take him with me,” Huang was saying now. Here was a woman who was _not_ proving to be predictable – such information was clearly being told to her in confidence. She found herself analysing the act – was this an attempt to gain her trust and make her more co-operative? Another clever management technique? Or could she be being paranoid, and DCI Huang simply lacked fellow female police officers to confide in?

“To Leicester?” She asked for confirmation, and to buy herself more time to think of how to deal with the unexpected change in topic. “A promotion to Detective Inspector, to fill the vacancy?” Cherry nodded. Perhaps she wanted Camille to ask her directly what she planned to do, but instead she opted for, “Well the newspaper reports stated it was believed you would be involved in the recruitment process, so it is not unreasonable for him to think it a possibility.”

“I suppose. But he will not be filling that position.” Camille said nothing, and perhaps Huang took her silence as disapproval because she continued slightly defensively, “He is not a bad officer, but he has a lot to learn and in my new role I won’t be able to hold his hand. And it would be horrendous of me to fill those vacancies with more Professional Standards officers – can you imagine what that would do to the morale of a team that has already taken such a major blow? Some of the current Detective Sergeants in that team seem eminently suitable for promotion.”

Camille was forced to admit to herself that no matter what she thought of Huang’s leadership style, that decision _was_ good management. She still wasn’t sure if this attempt at intimacy was genuine or manipulation, but she didn’t seem to harm in telling her, “I think that is a good idea.”

An awkward silence followed, that actually pushed Camille towards concluding this conversation was genuine. “Well, Detective Sergeant, will I see you tomorrow morning? I need to tell Saunders, you see.”

Camille knew not attending would mean a morning of trying to distract herself unsuccessfully at work whilst she waited for the Professional Standards detectives to return and for somebody to _finally_ get around to interviewing Richard. So she might as well say yes.

“Right then, I think I will stay here to work for the moment. Are you..?”

“I’ll leave you in peace, ma’am.” Camille didn’t trust herself to stay even though she would very much like to observe the officer at work. But she did have to ask one thing before she went, “Do you think we will be interviewing Detective Inspector Poole tomorrow?”

Huang was back to being engrossed in her paperwork and so didn’t look up, “Barring any unforeseen circumstances.” Camille nodded an acknowledgement the DCI couldn’t see and made to leave. At the door she was stopped momentarily by Huang calling, “And you can tell him that, if you like. He, uh, he knows it is me that is here? I mean was he told my name, as I said I feel it fair to let people do their research.” A clever cover for what she really wanted to know.

“Yes, ma’am, the Commissioner did mention you by name. Though not your colleague.”

Because it was evident that Huang wanted to ask more, Camille paused in order to allow it. “He didn’t seem…objectionable to the idea? You think he will be co-operative?”

“Yes, ma’am, Richard Poole will be co-operative. He’s a professional.”

DCI Huang nodded like she already knew it.

Because of course, she did.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story LIVES. I apologise sincerely for the delay in updating. It is a very different style from what I usually write and I often can’t get my brain to write in it!

It was an early start to Guadeloupe – the first ferry over. It didn’t bother Camille, she was a morning person. As, apparently, was Huang. Whist Saunders huddled inside with a (likely) disappointing cup of tea, Camille and the DCI stayed out on the upper decks taking advantage of the cool breeze. The say was shaping up to be unbearably hot, and the sun had only been up for a couple of hours. “I love boats,” DCI Huang offered just after they ferry set off. “When I was a small girl still living in Shanghai, my father would often have business that would take him to Chongming Island, on the Yangtze River. I would beg to go with him on those overcrowded ferries. I don’t know why it appealed so much, but every boat or ship I am on takes me right back to holding my father’s hand on the ferry deck. Watching the land recede away, then running to the other side of the boat to see our approach to the dock. Every time I go somewhere new, whether it is for a holiday or a work trip, if there is some kind of boat based tour you can guarantee I’ll do it.”

“Do you sail?” Camille asked. She didn’t see the point in not making conversation. Maybe Cherry Huang was offering up all this information to try to get Camille onside, maybe she just wanted a chat. But maybe it was also possible for Camille to influence Huang.

She gave a small smile, “No, actually, I don’t. Though I suppose it would be a logical hobby to take up? I guess I prefer to let somebody else do the work – possibly the only part of my life where that is the case. Perhaps I’ll take it up when I retire. Do you?”

Camille shook her head. Then, to keep the talk going, she asked, “When did you move to the UK?”

Huang turned around, leaning against the barriers and no longer facing the sea, “Oh, when I was seven. Never quite mastered a perfect English accent despite living there all these years.”

Camille shrugged, “I grew up bilingual and I still have a French accent. Though my school was largely French speaking.”

The rest of the ferry trip consisted of more work based discussions. Camille shared what she knew about the forensic services in Guadeloupe. She was also familiar with the Doctor who would be carrying out the post-mortem, a consummate professional called Dr Celia Letourneur. Well, professional except for one thing. “Do you speak _any_ French?” Camille asked, biting her lip when she heard who the pathologist was.

“Well, um, enough to get by on holiday. I did a bit in school.”

“Just start off greeting her in French and I assume you can remember how to say _je m'appelle..?_ ”

“Yes, yes,” Haung told her, nodding. “And what is the reason for this?”

“She can’t abide people who don’t _try_ the language. I am positive if you introduce yourself in French she’ll hear your accent, know you aren’t a native speaker, and switch to English. If you didn’t she would probably pretend not to speak English and make me translate.” Camille wondered if she should be telling Huang this. But for Richard’s sake she wanted things to go smoothly.

“Right,” Haung said. “She sounds like an interesting character.”

“She really is a very good pathologist,” Camille stressed. DCI Huang seemed willing to accept her word on this.

 

* * *

 

 

Huang pulled off the French introduction smoothly. Camille noted the hint of a smile on the ruby red lacquered lips of Dr Letourneur at the rather atrocious accent, but she didn’t comment on it. Instead she said, “Yes, pleased to meet you. We shall talk in English, no? Camille will help me if I forget a word, which you must forgive.”

“Of course,” Huang said, as if she was the one doing Dr Letourneur a favour.

“I hope you do not mind that I already took a few samples for toxicology, and sent the body for x-rays.” She nodded at an envelope that presumably contained the films. “We are all busy people - I thought this efficient. I have waited for you before making incisions.”

“ _Merci_ ,” DCI Huang said. Perhaps she thought the odd bit of extra French wouldn’t hurt. “I’m grateful you are allowing us to observe.”

DS Saunders had so far maintained his composure. Of course, he had also managed to entirely avoid looking at the body (Camille found herself unable to use the name of the woman she had seen alive not so long ago. Now was a time for distance.), already laid out naked on the gurney for examination. However, at the word “incision” his eyes were drawn irresistibly towards it.  Camille wouldn’t have guessed it could be possible for a man so pale already to actually get whiter, but he did. DCI Huang took one look at him and instantly decided he was better off elsewhere. She sent him off to another part of the building to enquire as to how long the toxicology results would take.

Dr Letourneur donned her protective goggles and gave them a small smile. “I could have told you this.” She tilted her head to one side. “But then, I think, perhaps he is best off not in the room. It is always so inconvenient when the weaker sex faints at upsetting things, is it not?” Camille knew that the athletic doctor enjoyed kickboxing in her spare time. She knew her own skills in hand to hand, and was pretty confident DCI Haung would be adept as well. In this instance, DS Saunders probably had been the weakest in the room in both physical strength, as well as stomach. Camille marvelled internally at how it would not have been so many years ago that the statistical likelihood of a female DS, DCI and pathologist working the same case would have been astronomical.

“Yes, quite,” DCI Huang agreed dryly with the doctor.

Dr Letourneur retrieved the tools of her trade. “A review of the X-rays showed no apparent recent fractures, though an ankle seems to have broken and heeled at some point. A careful external examination also shows no obvious injuries…”

And so it continued. Camille absorbed all of the information as it was passed on, knowing it would also be written up in perfect French and English by Dr Letourneur by the end of the day. She listened to the facts laid out before her, the largely empty stomach contents, the cyanosis, scar tissue in the uterus, the removal of wisdom teeth and TB lesions of the lungs. Some of these facts would be relevant to the case, others were just part of the story of the victim’s life. They didn’t know yet – it was there job to shift through and find out.

Finally, hours later, it was done. They bid Dr Letourneur goodbye, heading out of the chilled autopsy rooms into a blast of heat. Blinking up at the sun, Camille wondered where DS Saunders had been all this time. She expected DCI Huang to pull out a phone and call him to return, but when she went rummaging through her bag it was not a mobile she retrieved, but a pack of cigarettes.

“Do you mind?” She asked Camille, who shook her head. How else was she supposed to respond? “Do you want one?” Huang offered, and Camille shook her head again. “When did you quit?”

It was not something Camille had ever been asked before by other smokers. Had Huang read something on her face that told her she had smoked in the past? “I only smoked for three months,” Camille told her. “When I was undercover. It was kind of essential for the operation and I didn’t enjoy it all that much.”

“Oh yes, you did a lot undercover didn’t you?” Haung acted surprised, as if she hadn’t read Camille’s file. Or perhaps the significance of undercover work had just hit her, because she said next, “I have done a bit as well.” She took a long drag and looked like she was thoroughly enjoying the cigarette. “More than ‘a bit’ I suppose. Most of it for professional standards operations, but I have done one or two other operations.”

“You didn’t like it?” Camille guessed, and guessed correctly because Huang nodded.

“I liked the results, and I was good at it, very good, but I didn’t enjoy the process,” she said honestly. “It isn’t easy being somebody else, cutting ties with yourself. And I’m not convinced you don’t lose a little of yourself every operation.” She finished her cigarette, and frowned, “That went too quickly.”

“Trying to quit?”

She let out a little laugh, “Always! I’ve smoked since I was a teenager. Managed quitting only the once, for about a year.” She went quiet for a moment, her face distant, making Camille wonder what it was that had caused her to take up the habit again. Huang caught Camille studying her and quickly came back to the present. “Every physical the police medic gives me a lecture about giving it up. But you know what? A lot of my friends hit my age and suddenly put on weight they just can’t shift. It hasn’t happened to me yet, and I like to tell myself it’s the cigarettes.” She shared a conspiratorial smile with Camille. Then she added, almost as an afterthought, “Richard doesn’t seem to have managed to avoid the middle aged spread either.”

Camille held her breath for a moment. Had DCI Huang _really_ just let the truth slip so easily? The Chief Inspector gave her a sidelong glance after she had been silent a moment. Raising a single eyebrow, she told Camille, “I was thinking last night, you are far too smart not to have figured out we already know each other.”

Camille nodded in acknowledgment, “Yes, ma’am. It was…apparent.”

Huang was studying her packet of cigarettes, flicking the lid open and shut as she debated having another. “Well, I’m not here because I hate him and want to see him go down,” she said. “Just in case you were wondering.”

Camille had been coming to that conclusion herself. There was a tension between them now, at least a more pronounced one than before. Camille had a thousand things she wanted to know, but would never ask, and Huang knew it. “Where do you think DS Saunders is?” She asked, in an attempt to get the pair of them on to a less controversial topic.

An eye roll greeted that question. “Oh, probably off flirting with some French lab tech!” she said with a flap of her hand, dropping her cigarettes back into the hand bag and now pulling out the phone. “He soon forgets his ‘dedication’ towards me, as you put it, when I am out of sight. And don’t French women find their language spoken with an English accent really sexy?”

Camille just shrugged as DCI Huang connected to her colleague, trying not to recall with affection Richard’s own half a dozen French phrases pulled out only in the direst of situations. She was sure that Haung knew that the whole team felt more than just a professional regard for their chief of police. But there was no way Camille wanted her to learn _exactly_ how she felt about Richard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speaking of Richard, I promise he is back next chapter!


End file.
